7 things you wont read about England in the Lonely Planet Guide

1. Roundabouts and street signs are useless! Now I know I have had several rants in the past about the nightmare in following street signs so I shall not dwell on this. The only additional thing to say is – someone please tell the Highways Agency that unless everyone is driving at the speed of a 70 year old in a mobility scooter (which it seems a lot do), it is bloody useless putting up a sign AFTER you have gone past the intersection.

2. BBC news is crap: Now I know in Oz we get some good BBC documentaries but it seems that somehow this level of professional journalism and excellent reporting is thrown out the 12th floor window of the BBC morning news room. If you could imagine a mix of Delvine Delany meets Benny Hill you may get an idea of what I wake up to. I seem to sit and watch story after story which are either repeats of what was said 10 minutes ago or are so shallow that you couldn’t get wet even if you tried.

3. Renovate or detonate: it seems Jamie Drury has nothing when it comes to the English pre-occupation for TV shows about homes. See if you can guess which shows below are not real:
- Auction Squad
- Homes and Property
- Designer Homes
- Grand Designs
- Homes under the Hammer
- Escape to the country
- Build a New life in the Country
- I want that House
- Selling Houses
- Would you but a house with a Stranger?
- My place in the Sun
- A place in the Sun
- No going back – a new life in Paris
- Moving Day
- Relocation, Relocation
- Designer Disasters

If you guessed any of them you would be wrong. You can't turn on the telly without being told which house in Spain to buy, how tweed is the new design or how the house you live in now is crap compared to these magnificent properties you could never afford to buy. It seems that one common thread in most of them is that everything is better somewhere other than England.

4. No need to Cook – just turn on the TV: It also appears that the only thing more passionate with the English than buying and renovating is cooking. I wont even begin to list the cooking shows here but the celebrity cooks seem to outweigh all the pop stars, actors and actresses combined. But it is obvious that the shows are not designed for people to actually repeat what is being cooked. They are designed to lull the population in to thinking that all you have to do is sit on the fat ass and watch other people cook healthy food while you tuck in to your deep fried fish and chips. Obesity seems to have a good strangle hold and with long cold winters I can see why.

5. Teenage Pregnancy: Now I don’t want to make light of what is a real serious issue, particularly in Weymouth. It is common to walk in to town and be confronted by a constant stream of teenage mums pushing strollers. I know they talk about the struggles of small communities creating good employment and the need to keep the youth occupied but it is clear that something needs to be done. May be they could get them involved in renovating or cooking?

6. Football hooligans – player wimps: Watching the rugby recently I couldn’t get over the brutality that these players succumb to yet still manage to pick them selves up of the turf and keep going. “You’ll be right mate, its only a broken leg, get up and kick that ball”, “No that’s not blood, it is just a bit of your lung been forced out through your nostril - now go get-em”.

At the opposite extreme we have English football. There must be a well know acting class that they all go to as the response is often the same. The player starts by first jerking his head back like the image of JFK being shot in the head. Then he throws himself first up, then down, then collapses to the ground holding his head with one hand, his shin with the other. He then proceeds to roll around until such time as 4 men run out with a stretcher, or in extreme diving cases a coffin. The level of rapid recovery is often a medical miracle and is proportional to the time it takes to blow a whistle.

And so with all the acting that goes on, on the field, it escapes me why there continues to be such a level of cave men attitude when it comes to the spectators.

7. England sucks in the rain: And I suppose some of you might be thinking what got me on this rant in the first place. Well it really started this weekend when I left Kathy and the twins at home and Adelaide and I decided to head off to the Cotswolds for the weekend. The plan was to visit Oxford and look at the lovely old University buildings, then make our way through many of the small towns that lie within the undulating hills of the Cots. While the postcards show picture perfect scenery they don’t seem to have that same quaint, appealing charm about them when it is driving rain and 5 deg C. There should be some warning placed on Lonely Planet Guides saying "sorry - please ignore all previous information about how plesant these places are if there is any sign of rain"

We did our best to not let the torrential downpour flush away our spirits and still managed a quick dash around Oxford, Blenheim Palace (a monumentally large country house and the birthplace of Winston Churchill) and a scurry through the twee countryside that make this area so famous. While Adelaide lost interest after pneumonia set in, in a bizarre, been there mentality, I am glad we went.

In the end, with rain like that it is easy to see why people want to buy a house overseas, eat themselves to death on fatty food, get pregnant or take it all out on the football fans next to them.

Black Gold

An Englishman, Australian and Irishman walk in to a bar. They order three pints of Guinness. The barmen gives them the three pints. Just at that moment three flies land in each of the three glasses.

The Englishman pushes the glass away.

The Australian drinks the Guinness and leaves the fly.

The Irishman picks the fly out of his pint and thumps the fly on the bar yelling “spititout ya bastard, will ya spitit out.!”

It is well known that the Irish are religious and I am not only referring to their devotion to Christianity. It is the local black nectar that defines Ireland. We visited the Guinness factory in Dublin which pumps out 4 million pints per day. I reccon most of it must go to a bloke in Kilkenny who holds the world record for downing 4 pints of the stuff in 7 seconds. Many say that it is an acquired taste. I suppose it is like vegemite to us Ozis. It is either bloody awful or mothers milk and little in between. It also seems that my dad has been moonlighting as the head brewer at Guinness who is a Mr J.A. Carey. Now I know why I like drinking the stuff so much.

(a photo of their two strongest religious building - church and brewery)

Many say that Dublin isn’t a beautiful City and I would have to agree. There is not the great monuments, world class museums or great buildings. Although there is 3,545 pubs. We did walk past the Dublin Post Office which was the site of the Easter uprising in 1916. I did try to unravel the history of this place but it was more complicated than unpicking a knotted fishing line. As far back as 1366 it seems Catholic repression and rebellions was a yearly occurrence. I did discover a little known fact that as well as the Post Office they also took over a brewery, lunatic asylum and bakery. I guess they were planning for a good feed, drink and some rehab afterwards.

The week was over and it was time to return home. You would think that our defining memory of Oierland was rolling green hills, Guinness, pubs, or brightly painted towns – but actually it was housing development. Every town we drove into had large areas of new housing being built. Every road and town had some form of improvement going on. The €184 billion National Development Program is Irelands huge plan to transform the Country and judging by the growth it seems to be working.

But the lasting memory will always be the accent. Most of the time I bought anything that had a three in the cost just so I could hear the shop assistant say “that ill be tirty tree cents tanks”. As we got back on the plane the announcement came over the speaker: “How are youse? Thanks for joinin us and wes hope you enjoyedya stay in Oierland. Tis rainin in England but we alls hope yu enjoys yas flight”.

Irish Stew

We woke early after an overnight stop on the shore of Kenmare River. The morning began with a lovely drive through Killarney National Park and our hopes were rising. The road to Dingle was definitely one less travelled. I was beginning to think how unfortunate all those tourist were not seeing this beautiful part of Ireland. I do wonder if the locals want to keep this place for themselves.

The town of Dingle is the most Westerly town in Europe and the largest Gaeltacht (Irish speaking) region. The town was cute with buildings painted in a rainbow of different colours. We parked near the docks where the fishing boats were tied up unloading their catch from somewhere out in the deep Atlantic. Opposite the docks, a long line of pubs welcomes fisherman and locals. It seems that Oierland is one long bar. I even heard that Dingle has more pubs per head of population than any other town in Ireland – but I guess they assume that you can get a Guinness even in the Doctors surgery.

We only had one choice and that was to make ourselves at home with a pint and order an Irish Stew for dinner. As the night rolled on, the Irish music and singing started up and I knew that finally we were experiencing true Ireland.

The next day we drove beyond Dingle along a road hacked out of the cliff side with green fields on one side and the sheer cliffs disappearing into the Atlantic on the other. Some say the locals drive at night with their hand out the window feeling the rocks so they don’t drive off the edge. We travelled past old beehive huts reputed to be 3000 years old and stared in awe at the dramatic mountains looming out of the slight drizzle. From here the drive took us back towards Dublin but we had one more stop to make. Clonmacnoise is an impressive monastic remains, and one of the most important religious sites of its time, balanced on the shore of the Shannon River. As the few travellers present left for the evening we set up camp and watched as the stillness of dusk lit up the stone ruins. A fitting finish to our journey before our last stop in Dublin.

Welcom to Oierland

You know you are in Oierland the minute you step on Ryan Air with the announcement “How are youse? Thanks for joinin us on our jaunt to Oierland. Tis a glorius day in Dubln and we alls hope yu enjoys yas flight”. With no seating allocation we were lucky that the flight was not full otherwise I could see the twins sitting no where near us…not that that would be a bad thing! It did make me wonder if you got on first if you could sit in the pilot seat? Ryan Air is Europe’s larges low cost airline, criticised by many for contributing to global warming and unfair practices. But for £30 return for all 5 of us, I ignored my ethical stance to spend the week travelling in a campervan around the isle.

Our main destination was the south west coast. We made our way first through Kilkenny then a quick stop at the Rock of Cashel. Over 200 feet high, this limestone outcrop rises out of the rolling hills, and perched on top are the imposing remains of a cathedral dating back to 12th Century. There is folklore that this is where St Patrick established the shamrock as the symbol of Ireland and used it to teach people about Christianity as he travelled around Ireland.

From here we drove on through Cork to Kinsale where we camped by the Atlantic Ocean. Little did we realise before we left that as it was low season and none of the camp sites were open. Luckily the campervan was pretty self sufficient except for the need to sneak into a public toilet ever now and again to empty the loo (NOT a pleasant tasks!).

Next stop was Killarney. Some say it is too touristy full of nothing but leprechaun tea towels, jaunting cars and the never ending stream of coach tours. I think I agree. Unfortunately those same tourist coaches all had one destination in mind. The Ring of Kerry. We knew that it was a popular route when we were told that we needed to drive in a clockwise direction otherwise we wouldn’t be able to get past the parade of coaches that travel the ring along the narrow road.

The road twists and turns along the coast but for us, it was somewhat disappointing. Despite the tourist brochures, the scenery was nice but not as dramatic as Scotland. Many of the tourist books say that Ireland is all about the people. I think this is another way of saying that the scenery is not that impressive and you can find better history elsewhere. While we were planning to stay the night here we decided to push on and drive into the night in the hope that our next stop Dingle Peninsular would be better.

Technical difficulties from Oireland

Due to technical difficulties, James is not available to write his journal entry from Ireland........... well, technical difficulties is not entirely accurate. James is currently recovering from a week in a campervan with three children as well as suffering from a Guinness induced hangover.

Unfortunately he has to return to work tomorrow and will not be in a fit state of mind to recall the trials and tribulations of the last week for a few days. Normal programming will continue this weekend once he has had a chance to detox and the valium takes effect.


For those interested, attached is a map of the trip undertaken with the pubs visited clearly marked.

Oh la la

Well finally - I had a chance to get James back for leaving me in Sydney with a dicky gall bladder and three childrens, oh yes and that minor detail of a 24 hour flight - with three children - by my self!!

Trudi, having decided to take the trip of a lifetime - Switzerland, France, England, Ireland and India in two weeks - meet me in Paris for three days of fun and laughs. I also got a chance to catch up with an old girlfriend and Trudi's cousin flew in from Moroco on her way back to the UK.

Day 1 - we powerwalked through some of the classic Paris spots - the Pathenon, Notre Dame, the Louvre and another smaller musee with beautiful Monet's.

Day 2 - we did the musee d'Orsay and Monmatre. Trudi had her picture scetched before we walked down to see the Moulin Rouge (although the price tag prevented us from getting inside..). That evening, after being sent to the wrong place and driving madly up the Champs-e'Lyse in a Taxi with Trudi hanging out the window screaming - do you know where Maxim's restaurant is? in really bad French to anyone who was brave enough to stop and turn around, we eventually found our way to one of the best resaurants in Paris. After a beautiful meal and the best Birthday cake ever we piled back in a Taxi up the Champs-e'Lyse to see the Arc de Triomphe at night and then onward to the Eiffel Tower. It was lit up in Green and Gold with a oversized football between level 1 and 2, a massive NZ rugby football at its base and a scoreboard attached to the front giving us all the lastest scores from the World Rugby Cup. Even with the additions, the Eiffel Tower at night is a magical sight.

Day 3 - Whilst I had to head back to Weymouth, Trudi had time to climb up to the second level of the Eiffel Tower and check out the views before heading back to the UK.

Well worth the two operations and the flight of hell to the UK.......

Wallaby Road Kill

Ok, this weekend was one of the few which we have not drugged the children and thrown them in the boot to head off to some new village, castle or misty dale. No – it is not that we are settling in to a normal life here – instead we are heading to Ireland next Wednesday so it is the only chance I have of cutting the lawn before it is listed as old growth forest.

But before I lost three hours of my life walking up and down a paddock (I hope Alex gets a sheep when he returns) a faint call of patriotism beckoned. I didn’t have my Wallabies jumper so the best I could do was order a Fosters at the bar and settle in to a thrashing of the English…. Well that was the plan.

The Luggers Inn was full. It began with God Save the Queen being sung by the crowd and at that point I knew we were in trouble. With the exception of the Kiwi next to me I was the only other person who didn’t have some form of red or white attached to their torso. I stood proud and sang along with Stirling Mortlock to Advance Australia Fair but it seems we were both out of tune today.

As the game tussled back and forth I was a lone voice yelling for someone to mess up Wilkinson’s hair and for Tuqiri to do something useful but alas all the encouragement was not listened to. It seemed even with the Eifel tower bathed in green and gold while Kathy was in France (I will get her to post about the fun and misadventure she got up to with Trudie) there was little that could be done to bolster the troops. And so it ended with a hundred cheers from the crowd all directed squarely to me as I hovelled in the corner a beaten man.

Time to make a quick escape out the fire exit and think about doing those lawns….. na it can wait. I think I will plan which village, castle or misty dale we will visit in Ireland.